Controlling the Unknown
by claraowl
Summary: In this post-war Burrow fic, Ron and Hermione wrestle with what will come, what could be, and how to control insatiable urges. Romione oneshot.


**Hello, any readers who may or may not be out there! Yes, I realize that it has been far too long since my last HP fic (has it been six months already?), and I shall remedy that. I deeply apologize for life getting in the way of my writing. Trust me, I don't like it any better than you do. **

**As usual, I only own my transparent excuse for a plot. I apologize for the OoC-ness. I truly tried my best, but I suppose that I'll have to practice writing for them. What a shame. :)**

**This is dedicated to Hailey, a close friend of mine and fellow HP fan, who got to read this first. Happy Christmas, chica! **

_**Controlling the Unknown**_

"Ron?" Hermione asked tentatively, poking her head around his ajar door.

The aforementioned ginger sat up in bed, a look of surprise plastered across his face. "Yeah?"

"Er…" Hermione paused a moment, before slipping the rest of the way into his room, holding her pillow and a change of clothes. "Do you think that I could stay up here tonight?"

Ron blinked, and answered, "Sure, but where? Harry'll be up soon."

Hermione gave a small, slightly awkward laugh. "No, he won't."

"What d'you mean?" Ron inquired, furrowing his brow.

"Ron, think about whose room I usually share."

"Yeah…." The penny dropped; a look of mild disgust replaced the one of surprised confusion. "Ah. Excuse me." Having said this, he swung his legs out of bed and surged to his feet, fully prepared to head downstairs to stop the proceedings.

"Ron," Hermione stated simply, putting a hand on his arm, "it's too late to stop it. They were about to get started when I was planning to go to bed. That's why I grabbed my things and came up here."

"Bloody mental images," Ron swore, plunking himself back down on his bed, rubbing his eyes.

"Then let's change the subject; I gather that neither of us would like to dwell on such a lovely little fact," Hermione suggested, placing her things on what had been Harry's cot. "How are you doing?"

"Alright, I guess," Ron shrugged in reply, furrowing his brow slightly at her actions. "You?"

"I'm well, also," she replied, pulling back the blanket on the cot and settling down upon the mattress.

"Wait!" Ron exclaimed, looking mildly alarmed. "What're you doing?"

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. "I'm getting comfortable; you did say that it was alright for me to stay in here tonight, and I don't much fancy sleeping on the floor."

"No, er," Ron paused, his ears red as he stood, "I meant that you should take the bed."

"Ron, I appreciate your chivalry, but it isn't necessary," came the light reply. "I've always slept relatively well on the cot in Ginny's room, and I fail to see how this one is different regarding comfort."

"Actually, that one won't be comfortable for you at all," Ron countered. "Mum's got a spell on those so that they'll be as comfortable as possible – but only for the person it's originally brought out for. That one was brought out for Harry, so it won't be pleasant at all for you to sleep on it. The firmness and all that will be wrong."

"Won't there be the same problem if you sleep on it?" Hermione inquired, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, but you're my guest," Ron argued.

"Who technically isn't supposed to be up here at all," Hermione pointed out. "You didn't even invite me to be up here tonight."

"Where else would you sleep?" Ron ran his fingers through his hair in obvious irritation. "Nobody can expect you to stay in the same room as… as that." He gave an affected little shudder.

"Precisely; I am therefore imposing upon your hospitality, and should not take your bed," she reasoned.

Ron growled. "Hermione, if you're imposing on my hospitality, then you should actually accept my offer."

"And I, as your guest and longtime friend, flatly refuse to put you out of your bed."

The two of them glared at each other for a moment, arms crossed. Ron sighed and felt his ears go red. "C'mon, then," he muttered, his fingers closing around her elbow and pulling her to her feet.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Are you proposing a compromise to end our stalemate?"

Ron nodded mutely, releasing her elbow.

Hermione observed him for a moment, her cheeks coloring. "Right or left?" she inquired.

"Eh?" he blinked, bewildered as to her meaning.

"Do you want the right side or the left side?" she elaborated, picking up her pillow.

"The right side, if you don't mind," Ron gulped, pulling back the covers.

"I don't mind, but I sleep on my right side; will that bother you?" She placed her pillow next to his as she spoke, avoiding his eyes.

"Not at all." They were prattling now, to fill the space between them that this new prospect had made obvious. Hermione fiddled anxiously with the sleeve of her dressing gown before seeming to make a decision. Ron, noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, turned. "What are you doing?"

Hermione laughed. "Did you honestly expect me to sleep in my dressing gown?" She hung it on the post of his bed, revealing her owl-print pajamas.

Ron shrugged and slid onto his half of the bed; Hermione followed, smoothing the legs of her pajama bottoms; she tucked her legs underneath her. The redhead blinked nervously, half-leaning against the wall; their eyes met, and laughter bubbled up the bookworm's throat. Ron blinked. "What's so funny?"

"We are," Hermione grinned.

Her short statement elicited a blank stare, so she elaborated.

"We've known each other since we were eleven, and we just spent several months together in a tent, for heaven's sake. You'd think, wouldn't you, that we'd be more comfortable that we are with sharing a bed?"

At this, Ron laughed, too. "Nah, it's us. We've always been more comfortable fighting our way through some deadly situation with Harry than being alone together somewhere calm."

She grinned at him, leaning forward almost imperceptibly. "Typical, isn't it? This is why the sidekick characters rarely get their own chapters – remove the main character, and the dynamic malfunctions. It's a basic writing problem."

"How do you come up with this stuff?" He accepted her unspoken invitation, sliding his hand a bit closer to hers. Baby steps, careful movements, unguarded speech; that was how they operated.

"I read." A smirk quirked her lips; she inched her fingers toward his. "You really should know that by now."

"Maybe my observational skills also have the range of a teaspoon," he suggested, tapping one of her fingernails lightly, tentatively with his pad of his ring finger.

She responded in kind, copying his pattern with her center finger on his pointer finger. "That would explain an awful lot."

"And what do you mean by that?" He demanded, teasingly, sliding his fingers between hers.

She allowed him to initiate for a moment, and then raised their interlocked fingers a few inches, allowing their palms to meet. "Exactly what it sounds like I mean."

"And that would be…?" His breath was coming more quickly now, the metaphorical sparks from their small contact dancing a rather peppy conga on his nerve centers.

Her cheeks were beginning to color, her internal body temperature rising slightly. "You're about as observant about some things as you are emotionally literate."

"I may resemble that remark," he murmured, contemplating the risks of their situation, "but that doesn't mean that I don't resent it." Silence cut between them for a moment; he raised her fingers to his lips, careful never to dislodge his digits from hers.

She gasped at the contact, flushing slightly. "Th-that's very unlike you, you know." She mentally cursed herself for stuttering.

"Which bit?" Ron gulped; had his gamble not paid off? His ears burned; he released her fingers.

She gazed at him flatly for a moment, before something snapped. "This is idiotic," she muttered, glancing away from him. "We've been through a bloody war; we should be able to actually do this." She continued to mutter to herself unintelligibly.

Ron blinked. Hermione had actually sworn, which was unusual in its own regard; combine it with this uncharacteristic muttering, and a writer had the makings of a very out-of-character scene. This thought made Ron blink again, and shake his head slightly to clear it; now he was using Hermione's writing metaphors. What were they, book characters? The mere notion almost made him laugh.

He would have laughed, too, had Hermione not abruptly snapped out of her mutterings and met his half-dazed gaze. She appeared to have made up her mind about something, and smiled. He raised an inquiring eyebrow. She shook her head slightly, indicating that she would not tell him yet – typical Hermione behavior, now somewhat endearing, and completely shattering the extended writing metaphor – and then stretched out on her right side. Something jolted within Ron, summoning unbidden images to the forefront of his mind. He sat up straight rather suddenly, startling the recently peaceful Hermione.

"What's the matter?"

"I forgot to take a shower. I'll be back in a bit," he muttered, clambering over her and grabbing a change of clothes before she had a chance to move.

"Ron," she called after him, causing him to turn around for a moment.

"Yeah?" he was perspiring slightly from the pressure of the situation; he needed to vanish before he lost what little control he had.

"Please don't interrupt them," she whispered, eyes pleading. "They could use a little comfort. We all could."

"I know," he nodded. "Trust me, though, interrupting them is the last thing on my mind."

"Okay," she smiled. "Goodnight, if I'm asleep before you get back."

"Goodnight," he returned, slipping out of his bedroom and shutting the door behind him; he put his back against it, pushing the base of his hand against his forehead. Control, he knew, was essential; he needed to control his emotions, teaspoon or no. He might need to ask about being upgraded to a tablespoon's range; the war had heaped too many on him for his teaspoon to handle. He needed to keep his promise, even if the others hadn't… even if no one would know. That was why he needed control; if he wasn't careful, he might give in to his passions, shattering his promise to pieces in the process. Control, he told himself, it was all about control.

"Hermione?" he whispered, sliding sideways through the door. "Are you still awake?"

No answering whisper came; he moved, as quietly as his large feet allowed, over to his bed. A smile smoothed itself across his face when he reached his sleeping area; Hermione was curled into a ball, hugging his pillow. Chuckling softly and flicking some wet hair out of his face, he crawled back onto his side of the bed. He touched her cheek softly, once, and shifted so that they could both have a bit of her pillow, as his was currently busy.

The sleeping girl – no, woman, now – reacted to his touch, releasing his pillow and instead wrapping her arms around him. He smiled into her hair, burying his nose in it and breathing in deeply, just as he had imagined doing so many times before. She smiled in her sleep, tucking her face under his chin, into the crook of his neck. He sighed, looping his arms around her waist. This was, he mused, the most peaceful moment that he'd experienced in too long of a time. He took a moment to let it all sink in, all that had happened in the past year and a half; he was forced to bite his lip and push his face into Hermione's hair to control his teaspoon.

Control, such a varied word, a voice much like Hermione's mused in some remote curve of his skull. So many different denotations for a single connotation… isn't it fun?

Understandably, Ron neglected to answer this voice, as the girl in his arms was stirring… no, purring. He blinked. Hermione was _purring._ Quite nicely, too; she was sending a lovely array of vibrations into his neck. He spared a few brain cells to wonder if this recent development of her missing Crookshanks, who was apparently watching over her parents in Australia, before shifting slightly so that he could see her face. To his surprise, her eyes were open.

"Where are we?" Hermione whispered, breathlessly, her gaze not leaving his face, as if she dared not look away.

"My room," Ron blinked, relatively nonplussed, "but why don't you just look?"

"I don't want you to vanish again, like last time."

"What?" There had been a last time?

"Don't you remember? In the last dream," she murmured, her hands sliding down him, transmitting all the necessary information, "when I put my head back, you just disappeared."

A dream, he nodded, that would make sense; if her book-reality line is thin, then her dream-reality line must be transparent. "What if I promise that I'll still be here when you look back?"

"But that's what you say every time," she breathed, gaze still riveted on his face.

"Did I ever actually promise before?" he inquired, hoping desperately to find some way to convince her that this was real. Control, he focused, I need control… of both myself and this situation. If I can't have the latter, then the former will go.

He blinked; Hermione really was rubbing off on him. He couldn't recall ever using the word 'latter' before now.

"No," she whispered, "you've never promised."

"Then can't you take my word for it?" He paused, and then added, "Won't you trust me?"

"With my life," she smiled, "as I have many times before."

"Then can't you trust me that this isn't a dream, and that I won't vanish when you look away?"

"Not… a dream?" she pondered haltingly, realizing the implications of what she had revealed if that were true.

"As far as I know, yeah," Ron laughed weakly.

She bit her lip. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you promise that you won't vanish?"

"Yes," he nodded, looking down into her eyes.

Her fingers gripped the fabric of his t-shirt. "Say the words. Promise me you won't leave, like last time. Don't… don't leave me."

The words stung, forcibly reminding him of the way he'd stormed out of the tent, ignoring her pleas for him to return. He hadn't forgotten, and was sure that he never would. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I promise that, in any situation that I can control, I will never leave you again. Including now."

With pain in her eyes, Hermione nodded wordlessly and tore her gaze from his face, waiting for the fabric of his t-shirt to change, once more, into a pillow sham. This time, however, there was no sudden shift in light, no alarm blaring in her ear, no Crookshanks sitting on her face… no change at all, save an excellent view of an unusually quiet Pigwidgeon devouring what appeared to be half a live mouse. She glanced back at him, face flushed.

"See? No Disapparation," Ron grinned.

"This isn't a dream, is it?" came the flat-toned inquiry.

"Nope," was the inappropriately cheerful response.

"Well, then…" Hermione twisted the fabric of his shirtfront in her hands, disconcerted. "Where do we go from here?"

"To sleep?"

"That's not what I mean, as you know full well."

"Excuse me for trying to lighten the mood."

Hermione actually smiled at that, allowing the tortured fabric to slide from her hands. "That is one of your talents."

"Anyway, being serious for a moment – not Sirius Black, just plain serious –"

"—that'll be the day—"

"—what are our options from here on out?"

"There are a variety of options, as far as I can tell," she began, noting that he had tangled his fingers inextricably in her hair. "To begin with, there's the simple option of me disappearing from all of your lives altogether –"

"No!" Ron half-shouted, interrupting her. "Not an option."

"I'm not too fond of it either, to tell the truth."

"You just made me promise not to leave you again, Hermione. D'you really think that I'd break it that easily?"

"Technically, I'd be the one vanishing."

"I'd find you if I had to go all over this bloody planet. We got out of that – that war together and alive. You're not allowed to simply vanish," a possessive growl had crept into his voice, obliterating all thought of control.

"Are you really in a position to tell me what I can and cannot do?" Hermione inquired, one eyebrow quirked.

"You tell me," Ron replied, his arms trapping her against the mattress.

"Which leads us to option number two," she whispered, a hitch in her voice. "Need I speak of it?"

"Tempting." Control, he chided himself, control.

"I concur. However, Ginny 'borrowed' my potion, and… er… it wouldn't be wise to risk it."

"Are there other options?" Ron inquired, his ears aflame as he forced himself back into his previous position, one of holding rather than confinement.

"Y-Yes, of course," Hermione breathed, her cheeks matching Ron's ears. "We could either go to sleep in an attempt to pretend that nothing occurred, or we could decide whether or not we'll actually be… together, officially."

"Those are our options," Ron nodded. "Y'know, I think that sleep is pretty impossible for me right now, so if you're not too tired…" he allowed his sentence to trail off into nonbeing, which is to say, everything.

Hermione shook her head, indicating that he should begin.

"D'you have any clue how to go about something like this?"

Again, she shook her head. "These scenes generally don't appear in books." After glancing at Ron's face, she added, "Oh, go on and laugh if you want; at least I have an emotional range larger than a teaspoon."

"About that," Ron chuckled, "do you think that I could be upgraded to a teaspoon, or an eighth of a cup? It's been a while since then, and an awful lot has happened."

"I'll consider it." Hermione smiled, before noting, "Your speech patterns have changed slightly."

"Yours have, too," Ron murmured, gathering his courage and tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

She caught his hand, holding it to the side of her face. "I suppose that the war changed all of us, for better or for worse."

"At least we made it through together, right?" he replied, slipping his free hand back around her waist, pulling her flush against him, all the while careful never to release the control he had over himself.

"Together," she repeated in a whisper, allowing him to tilt her chin toward him, angling her face, "is that a promise?"

"Yes," he murmured, "that is a promise."

They leaned forward and sealed it, a physical and emotional bond that would maintain them for years to come.

_**Finite Incantatem.**_

**Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.**


End file.
